


Tell Me, Did You Sail Across the Sun?

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Series: 616 Canon-Compliant One-Shots [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Daredevil (Comics), Tales of Suspense
Genre: Canon Compliant, Exes as Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied BuckyNat, Implied Kirsten/Matt, Missing Scene, One Shot, POV Natasha Romanov, Post–Tales of Suspense (2015) #104
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16590659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: After dying at the hands of one of her best friends, being resurrected by her enemies, and months of hiding and killing, Natasha Romanov could use a break, so she hits up an old friend. Takes place immediately after Tales of Suspense #104.





	Tell Me, Did You Sail Across the Sun?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [Drops of Jupiter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Xf-Lesrkuc) by Train.
> 
> Much appreciation to dawittiest for beta-ing this!

Natasha didn’t stick around to watch the aftermath of the explosion. She still had a job to do, and explaining herself to the authorities would only slow her down. James and Clint would be able to handle it from there, anyway. She'd stashed a motorcycle out in the woods earlier that day, and it was easy to slip off with everyone's attention focused on the pandemonium around the facility. Within the hour, she was in Manhattan, flying down the West Side Highway toward Hell’s Kitchen.

She let herself in through what appeared to be Matt’s bedroom window, finding the apartment empty. This wasn’t a surprise—considering the bits and snippets of news she’d heard regarding his new job, long hours were to be expected, and there was always a chance he would be out all night, patrolling the streets. If he didn’t show up, she’d leave a thank-you note behind her. Maybe a nice bottle of wine.

It had been a long time and several new apartments since the last time she'd crashed at his place, but it was all familiar. Matt kept the same furniture, the same layout, in every apartment he lived in. She helped herself to an old Columbia Law tee and a pair of pajama pants from his dresser and a fluffy white towel from his linen closet, then took a long, hot shower.

Had it really been that long? There had been a time when a month couldn’t go by without one of them getting roped into the other one’s mess. These past few years, though, she’d been so busy with one Avengers project after another while answering to SHIELD and Maria Hill in her precious spare time. And Matt, of course, had become a public figure in an entirely different way.

It wasn’t that they were too busy to keep in touch. They’d always been busy. But they’d drifted apart, stopped leaning on each other so much, found other sources of support. The last time she’d done this...

The last time she’d done this, Nick Fury had still been her boss. Now that was a funny thought.

After her shower, Natasha dried herself off and changed into the borrowed pajamas, then wandered around his room with the lights off, idly perusing the decor as she considered whether or not she should wait up for him. It had been a long day, and the bed looked very inviting from where she stood. Matt was the only person she knew whose taste for luxury bedsheets outrivaled her own.

She didn't hear him until he was already upon her, caging her in with an arm around her neck while his billy club dug into her side. “I don’t know who you think you are,” Daredevil growled, “but if you know me well enough to do _this_ , you should also know that I’m not known for my sense of humor.” His voice held a dangerous edge. It was clear that he was just barely holding himself back from unleashing hell on her. Apparently, there was some sort of misunderstanding.

She held still, hoping that if she stayed calm, she wouldn't have to get into another fight so soon after her shower. “Matt. It’s me.”

He seemed to hesitate for a split second, hearing her voice, but it passed quickly. Angrily, he spun her around and grabbed her. Her instinct kicked in, and she snapped an elbow into his gut to break his hold. He let out a grunt, but instead of doubling over, he caught her arm again, managing to wrestle her down to the ground. She could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he gritted through his teeth, “Natasha Romanova is _dead_.”

“I _was_ dead.” She bridged up, throwing him off balance, then grabbed his arm and flipped him over, landing on top of him. “You know how these things go.”

Enraged, he snarled and pushed her away. “Stop talking like you’re her!”

Natasha jumped to her feet as he got up, and they circled each other warily. Her heart raced, the adrenaline making everything seem clearer, sharper. She dodged his billy club just in time, feeling the air shift as it whizzed by her ear, and she almost laughed out loud. She hadn’t had this much fun in months. Longer, even.

Unfortunately, the room wasn’t big enough for a real fight, and she soon found herself backed up against the wall. “Whatever you’ve done,” he said, leaning in menacingly, “it's a close approximation. But you should have known better to think that it could fool _me_.”

Still enjoying herself, she ducked underneath his arm and danced out of reach, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you would stop trying to kill me for a second, I can explain.”

“I’m not looking for explanations. I just want you to leave.” He took a guess. “Yelena? Is that what this is? Some sort of payback?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took another swing at her. She’d had enough—she dodged the blow, feinted with her hands, and swept his feet from out underneath him. This time, she didn’t give him a chance to recover. She pushed him toward the bed and pinned him there, lining the billy club up against his throat. He struggled fruitlessly.

“ _Enough_.” She pressed the club slightly against his windpipe, just enough to impress upon him that she was in control. “Now, are you going to play nice, or do I need to knock you out for you to listen?”

As it became clear that Natasha wasn’t going to hurt him, Matt visibly relaxed. “Fine,” he said. “Impress me.”

Natasha eased up part of the way. He made no move to attack, so she rolled off of him and sat on the carpet next to him. He propped himself up with his elbows, waiting for her to begin.

“I _did_ die,” she said. “The Red Room brought me back. Apparently, it was growing clones of all of the Widows, keeping them—us—in stasis. They had a telepath who was linked up to us, storing all of our thoughts and memories like on a hard drive. When one of us died, they’d just take a clone out of its tube and have him transfer our memories to the new body.”

“Hmmm.” He cocked his head in her direction. “I guess that explains why your scent is just slightly off.”

“Ugh, I hate when you talk about people’s scents.”

Matt shrugged. “Love me, love my quirks.”

She quirked an eyebrow, even though he couldn’t see it. “Can’t I love the sinner and hate the sin instead?”

He stood and then gave her a hand up. Just as she was about to let go of his hand, he froze. “You called me Matt.”

Natasha looked around at the empty room. “We’re alone here, aren’t we?”

“But, I mean—you shouldn’t know who I am. My secret identity—”

“Oh, Matt.” She shook her head. “Those tricks don’t work on me anymore.”

Matt chuckled softly. “I shouldn’t even be surprised.” Then he did something that took her by surprise—he put his arms around her and pulled her close, removing his cowl and burrowing his face into her hair. She froze for a second before melting into it. It was the first hug she’d gotten since coming back to life, the first show of simple affection in so long. She’d died in the middle of one nightmare and had woken up in a parallel nightmare. Normalcy, right now, felt like heaven. 

When they pulled apart, Natasha could see that Matt’s cheeks were wet, and she felt a little shaky herself. He sat down on the bed, leaving room for her. She took the seat offered, pulling up one leg and resting her chin on her knee.

“It’s been months,” he said, his voice full of awe. “I can’t believe it.”

“They actually brought me back within a few days. I was undercover all this time, so I couldn’t exactly reach out.”

He nodded in understanding, and they sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“I never really mourned you,” he admitted. “Foggy tried to get me to talk about it, but I...” He drew the last syllable out for a long time, finally shaking his head and starting over. “All my life, grief and guilt have always gone hand-in-hand. My dad was murdered because he wanted to set a good example for me. Milla was targeted because of me. Karen, Glori...even Foggy, when I count up all the times he’s been on the brink of death because someone wanted to send me a message. I know it sounds self-centered, but that’s my life.” He took a deep breath. “And then...and then you died on the other side of the country, fighting a reality-warped fascist Captain America. It was the last thing I ever expected to happen.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, me too.”

He agreed to let her stay for the night, and then she waited in the bedroom while he took his own shower. Knowing that he could hear her over the water, she leaned against the bathroom door and caught him up on what her life had become, since dying. The white noise of the running water was relaxing, making it easier to talk about the things that the Red Room had tried to make her do. It all came out, the plans and the way she’d subverted them, right until the moment where she blew up the facility.

“It’s not over,” she said. The water turned off. “They’re still out there. I asked Barnes to meet me in a few days to help me finish the job.”

A few minutes later, Matt emerged in pajamas and a silk robe, his hair still damp. “I’m guessing this is the kind of mission I wouldn’t approve of,” he said.

The last thing she needed was another lecture. “Don’t treat me like I’m Frank Castle.”

“I know, I know.” He leaned against his dresser. “So, ‘Barnes,’ is it?”

“It’s, uh...it’s complicated.” Although, who better to turn to with boy problems than an ex? “We—he and I—were a couple.”

He shrugged. “I know.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

He faced her, waiting for her to explain.

“A while ago, some asshole with a grudge against him got hold of me and brainwashed me.”

“I remember that. He got to your Barnes, too. Guy showed up here with his head on backwards and tried to kill me.”

“Really?” She tried to imagine what a fight between the two of them would have looked like. James in Winter Soldier mode was a terrifying sight, but Matt was one of the best hand-to-hand combat fighters in the world. “No one ever told me about that.” Not that it would have come up in conversation afterward. “Eventually, SHIELD fixed me...most of the way. But my memories of James were gone. The connections in my brain had been snapped.”

“Ahh. So that’s what happened.”

She looked at him, curious as to his meaning.

“You had changed, the next time I saw you,” he continued. “Remember, in San Francisco?”

“You mean when you interrupted me in the middle of a job and threatened me if I didn't leave ‘your’ city?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “I was scared for you more than scared of you.”

“Well, your pep talk skills could use some work.” She scooted over and leaned against the headboard and pulled a pillow onto her lap. Her mind flashed to Liho for a second, the way the cat would climb up into her lap, uninvited, kneading her legs with his paws until she would finally relent and start to pet him. What she wouldn’t give for a cat to snuggle with right now.

“What the Red Room telepath did to me,” she started, “it was like...like an info dump. Like my old brain was a hard drive with...partitions and deleted files and folders, and everything was restored and copied and pasted straight onto the desktop in my new head, and now I need to sort through everything to figure out where it belongs. Every memory that’s ever been tampered with, I have both versions of it in my head. I remember training with him back in the 50s, and I have the same memories with him missing. I remember being with him while he was Captain America and holding him as he nearly died in Washington DC...and I also remember those same events from a distance. But that’s not all. The Red Room used to brainwash us regularly, and over the years, some of my real memories have resurfaced, but now, I have _all_ of them.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Sixty years of buried memories.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to process.”

“And I haven’t had much time to do it,” she agreed. “And with Ba—with _James_... getting those memories back all of a sudden is like going back in time, in a way. He’s has had two years to move on. For me, it’s all fresh.”

“So...you want to jump back in where you left off, but you don’t know if he feels the same way.” He paused to let her respond, and she made a sound of agreement. “Uh-huh. I’m trying to imagine you telling him that you want to be with him, and him telling you that he’s...what, over you? Not interested?” Matt laughed. “No, no. It’s too ludicrous.”

“Shut up.” She hit him lightly on his arm. “How many times did that exact scene happen with you and me?”

“That’s different. You only ever decided you wanted me when I was already in a relationship.”

“That’s...fair, actually.”

“I’m single now. You want me?” That was a joke, of course. They'd both moved well past each other by now. Even if she hadn't—she'd long ago accepted that she would never be number one in Matt's eyes, and she was too proud to settle down with someone who didn't see her as a first choice. At this point, their past was far enough behind them that they could joke about it comfortably, which was a surprisingly nice feeling.

“Whatever happened to Kirsten?” Natasha asked. “I liked her.”

“We're...not together anymore.”

“Yes, that much is obvious, but why not?”

“Natasha.” He said her name with a touch of exasperation, as if she should have known without asking. “Do you know how many dead ex-girlfriends I have?”

It was a sad testament to his life that she knew the answer to that one without counting. “Anywhere between three and five, depending on how you count resurrections.”

“Correct.” He nodded his head at her, the expression on his face one that he must have used in countless courtrooms, perfected over years of being a trial lawyer. _No further questions._

“But Kirsten’s not dead.” She'd looked into it when she'd heard through the grapevine that Matt was moving back to New York alone. Kirsten, as it turned out, was perfectly fine, working for a prestigious firm in San Francisco.

“Exactly. She’s alive, and I prefer her that way.”

So his love life was still a mess, after all these years. It was a shame—he and Kirsten really had made a great pair, although Natasha couldn’t deny that his fears were justified by his past experiences. “Just get her bitten by a spider,” Natasha suggested. “Then she’ll have her own powers and you won’t need to worry about her anymore.”

Matt sighed deeply. “How is it that you always know exactly the right thing to say to make me feel better?”

After exhausting the subject of her life, they moved on to his. She tried to pay attention, but the next thing she knew, her eyes were closed, and she had slid down the headboard, her body curled around the pillow she’d been clutching. She could feel a blanket being placed on her, enveloping her in warmth. Disoriented, she opened her eyes. Matt was leaning over in front of her, pulling the blanket up to cover her shoulder. He must have heard the change in her heartbeat because he stood up and said, “I’ll just be on the couch. If you need anything.”

She must have fallen asleep mid-conversation; how rude of her. She pushed herself up, trying to gather a second wind. “No, no, just get me a cup of coffee. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly,” Matt said. “You need your rest.”

Since she had to struggle to keep her eyes open even as she argued, she acquiesced without any further protests. Natasha watched him walk to the door; then she laid her head on the pillow and mumbled, “G’night.”

“Night.” He turned back toward her, fingers on the doorknob. “It's really good to see you, ‘Tasha.”

“You too.”

“Don't be a stranger.”

She meant to respond, to assure him that she wouldn’t, but a yawn overtook her before she could get the words out. Matt started to close the door, the sliver of light from the hallway growing narrower and narrower. Her eyes drifted closed before it went out altogether.


End file.
